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Emma Mather knew she was damned. From that point on, there was no denying it. She had looked into the gates of the hells and gone “sure, why not.” Because there she stood, trembling in the clutches of a monster, and all she could manage to do…was nod.
We love you, Emma Mather. We love you, and you belong to us. Rafe could only come up with one word to summarize. “Shit.”
“I know that look,” Rafe muttered from behind her. “What look?” “The look of someone holding it together at the seams.”
Rafe put the food onto some plates and slid one to her before fetching forks. It was such a benign, normal action in the middle of a conversation about soul-shredding cults and monsters.
